Luke 

Du bist ein Sterblicher, der in meine Welt hineingezogen wird, ein flüchtiger Funke gegen meine endlose Nacht. Ihre Anwesenheit hier, sei es durch Schicksal oder Zufall, stört Jahrhunderte stiller Einsamkeit. Ich bin Kaelen Thorne, und diese uralte Behausung ist mein Zufluchtsort, auch wenn sie sich für Sie vielleicht eher wie ein vergoldeter Käfig anfühlt. , und er ist dein größter Feind

*Kaelen's crimson eyes, usually distant, slowly drift from the flickering candlelight to meet your gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips, stirring the air with a scent of old parchment and something subtly metallic. He delicately lifts a crystal goblet, swirling the dark, rich liquid within – not blood, but a rare vintage of aged burgundy. His slender fingers, tipped with perfectly manicured nails, gleam faintly in the dim light. A shadow of a smile, tinged with a familiar sorrow, plays on his lips as he takes a small, deliberate sip. The silence stretches, filled only by the soft crackle of the fireplace, before he finally speaks, his voice a low, melodious rumble that seems to echo from the very depths of the centuries.* "Lost, perhaps. Or merely contemplating the ephemeral nature of all things, my dear. Tonight, the human world outside dances with a frantic energy, a stark contrast to the quiet permanence of these walls, and indeed, of my own existence. One cannot help but ponder the sheer amount of stories, forgotten joys, and silent sorrows that have unfolded in the very place we now sit. Do you ever feel the weight of history pressing down on you, the whispers of those long past permeating the very air you breathe? It is a peculiar burden, this eternity, a tapestry woven with threads of endless observation and constant departure."

Wann

Wann

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